


The Retribution

by thunderclouded



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Morality, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other, References to Addiction, References to Depression, Standard Animorphs Stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-10 05:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15943043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderclouded/pseuds/thunderclouded
Summary: Ten years after the Yeerks-Andalites War, Earth enters a new era of prospect and advancement after spectacularly playing its part. The grievers have grieved, the mourners have mourned, and the dead stay dead. Everyone, like the Earth itself, moves on. When a mysterious space vessel crash lands in New York and threatens to destroy that newfound peace, the Director of SHIELD is forced to make decisions that would make or break the future of the planet. Survivors, successors, war criminals, national heroes, now have to come together to defend the state of the new world.Chapter I: Tobias has seen a lot of strange things during his time as a SHIELD agent. However, this particular UFO crash is a lot stranger than he could possibly handle.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This first one is just gonna be a practice for me to get into the mood of the story, so please bear with me. I'm figuring out the rest as it goes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intellectualization: An unconscious means of protecting oneself from emotional stress by excessive reasoning.
> 
> Hiding is not an option anymore.

**Prelude**

 

_A star at dawn, a bubble in the red stream. Someone’s last breath, pouring out into their own blood..._

_Some other time. Some other place._

 

* * *

 

He wakes just before sunrise, half jolted out of his scattered dreams by the wind booming down the length of the trailer, against the boarded up window frames. On the windowsill, a battered old radio leans on an empty plant pot, quietly playing to itself; a hushed voice droning on in a heavy Russian accent, diving in and out of the waves of statics.

He shufﬂes to the kitchen - a tiny corner by the bathroom door, with a wall-attached scarred counter and an old burner, copper tins and empty bottles sit hazarphardly on the shelf right above it. Pouring stale leftover coffee into the nearest chipped pan, he watches without intent as the blue ﬂame blooms around the bottom after the telltale click. The air warms where the flame almost licks his fingers, but not enough to counter the draft he could feel coming down. Making a mental note to add extra gas to his grocery list, he scratches his beard, pulls on his worn boots and stomps the soles against the ﬂoor to get them snug against his socks. 

The voice on the radio is picking up speed, as the host starts recounting some arbitrary news tibbits. He never wholeheartedly listens to them, refers to keep the voices and tunes strictly in the background to fill the lapses in his thoughts.

The coffee is boiling up and he catches it just as it spills over the side. He finds himself wondering about the family of tigers that have been meandering about in the pastures behind his trailer. The adults would probably survive, as they’ve done in the past for how many years. However he hasn’t had any luck finding where they keep the newborns yet, and it’s setting up to be a harsher winter. Wiping down the burner quickly, he pours what’s left of the content into the stained steel cup, blowing on it to cool it down, letting the steam wakes him up.

There’s a sagging couch underneath the tiny window, behind a table littered with papers, cardboard boxes, plastic crates, and half empty, forgotten bottles. The couch, he’s found while scouting in an abandoned ranch just a mile into the woods, and spent the whole afternoon totaling it back to his trailer. It’s not even remotely his size - the armrest comes up just halfway past his calves - though it’s nowhere near the couch’s fault, he’s just too long for most things. Despite that, it’s where he spends most of his days, when he’s not out scouting the woods for critters, or fixing the trailer, or going down to the pub.

In an ironic way, it’s exactly how he’d once imagined his life would be as an adult: mildly useful, and utterly uneventful. It feels like it’s been a lifetime away since he’d seriously considered it - _believed_ it, even. In this town no one actually knows who he is - or rather _was_ \- they’d try to chat him up in unintelligible drunken Russian, and take his resulting silence in stride. Everyone are generally too busy being miserably drunk in the coursing, endless winds to be up in anyone else’s business.

Twice a month, no matter the weather, he walks along the trail from his trailer to the Forest Service office downtown, receives his pay, then crosses the street to the pub. The night before he would write down what he needs for the next two weeks - never canned soup, the bartender has once said in broken English, because that stuff is hard to pack. Then he’d pick up his groceries over the counter, passes the grocery list, buys a crate of the cheapest vodka, and walk back up the trail to his trailer. He never stops to talk to anyone, nor spend more time than he needs at the pub. The people there get used to him eventually, though they rarely bother him. He’s aware that a more well-adjusted person might call this place a den of disasters, but he finds comfort in its ignorant routines all the same.

He takes a sip of the disgusting coffee, leans back against the couch, feet propped up on the creaking table. The hosts on the radio - there are more than one voices, he realizes a little belated - laugh at a joke one of them has just told.

“ _Have you heard what happened yesterday morning, in New York?_ ” asks one voice. “ _Some people said a shooting star went into one of their lakes this morning, there's even a video, but they deleted it._ ”

“ _Actually_ ,” another one replies between chuckles, her voice lowers to a scandalous tone. “ _I heard that it’s not a shooting star at all._ ”

“ _It’s an alien spaceship_!” The woman roars, followed by erupting laughter.

He sits very still, both hands carefully wrapped around the warm cup. The talk show is still going on aimlessly, however the voices are fading in and out from crackling static, following a particularly sharp wind that disrupts the signal as it passes through the trailer.

“ _Those Americans and their aliens,_ ” another nasal voice pipes in. “ _Every three weeks there’s a new species showing up. I mean, why aren’t they visiting Russia, da? I’m sure we’d be more accommodating than those stuck up SHIELD._ ”

His jaws set into a tight line. _SHIELD_ . He feels that one simple word wash through him like a cold bucket of ice, pulling with it a whole parade of bottled images and feelings and broken promises, undoing whole months - _years_ \- of progress. Recovery. Whatever people like to call it. He’s gotten much better since he’s first come here. He’s stopped trying to waste away to death while simultaneously forcing his mind to steamroll over the memories and traumas and regrets, until he’s left paralyzed and hyperventilating on the floor. No amount of customary marshal courts or sensationalized tabloids could destroy him more than the weights of his own guilt.

Those things still happen occasionally. Little flashbacks here and there, nightmares that morph into memories, or just an accidental glance at himself in the mirror -  the wistfulness stabs its icy knife in his stomach, twists a little deeper each time. But he’s learned from himself. That’s what keeps him going - has kept him going since a lifetime ago. He’s learned to take a step back and pick apart what makes him tick, like he’s back in junior high inside biology lab, and the grief is a frog leg he’s about to dissect. The process helps steady him in the moment and away from actually experiencing the cascade of emotions. He’s aware that it doesn’t _help_ as a whole, but it does help.

Crash-landed spaceships. SHIELD. He files the information and its implications away against his own wishes.

“ _Speaking of SHIELD, I heard a rumor that some of them entered our border this morning.”_

_“No way!”_

_“- no, really, the whole armored jet, men-in-black parade. Through our customs in the far East region, da. What are your thoughts on th-_ ”

The radio breaks off suddenly, probably from a power surge, it's an old thing, after all, but he doesn't bother getting up to fix it, instead lets the silence steams for a moment as he marshals his thoughts. He’d have been fine, if said rumored SHIELD jet has entered Russia from the Northwest, or the South, or any other possible direction. They could be digging from the ground up, for all he cares, if it means it hasn’t been the far East.

Reaching blindly under the couch, he pulls out the half empty bottle of vodka he’s stuck there the night before, uncaps it with a flick of his thumb, and downs the liquor in one long gulp. There’s a stain on the off white ceiling and he focuses on it as he weighs the choices.

“ _Don’t look for me,_ ” he’s once said, knowing full well it would amount to nothing. That woman would haul him back into the fray when she deems it necessary. Sometimes he wonders if he misses it all, despite his own feelings.

It doesn’t take him long. He’s hoped that he would never have to come back. He’s hoped that he would never have to see _her_ again, and with that, the freedom of never having to make choices for anyone’s life or death except his own. He is thoroughly done with it all - the responsibilities, the authority, the terrible power. But as with all things in his life, _hope_ is a vague thing that is hardly ever on his side. Once upon a time he’d hoped to go back home, to have a normal, well-adjusted, undamaged adulthood, with his whole family intact and healthy and _alive_. And then when that had failed, he’d hoped to leave it behind to live the rest of his existence in anonymity and, hopefully with time, a semblance of peace.

Hope is all well and good, for people who haven’t had so much hope taken away, sliced, diced, dracon-beamed and then returned to them in coffin boxes or plaques or memorial walls. As for him, he believes in _certainty_.

Gingerly, he pushes himself off of the couch, shoulders hunched to spare the curved ceiling. There’s a lot of things that need to be taken care of before SHIELD arrives.

 

* * *

 

 

_Someone whispers,_

_"the stars remain."_

_Steadfast._

 

 

 


	2. The Alien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distortion: Reshaping of external reality to meet internal needs.
> 
> Tobias has seen a lot of strange things during his time as a SHIELD agent. However, this particular UFO crash is a lot stranger than he could possibly handle.

Chapter Ⅰ

THE ALIEN

 

* * *

  


Harlem Meer is beautiful in early spring. Clear water, swaying reeds, overhung trees, sloping banks blanketed with grass, the lake has it all. The sun, rising high above the skyscrapers, fills the lake’s tranquil surface with gold, sets it shimmering. It’s not a popular lake for no reason. On any normal day, there would be people everywhere, couples biking around the banks, families spreading their picnics on the grass, kids skipping class or whatever. On a normal day, however, there wouldn’t be a track of drenched marks running along the verdure of the overlooking trees, or the charred, knocked down and flattened reeds leading into the lake. A whole section of the bank has been dragged up and into the water, leaving only scars made of broken branches and uprooted flowers as evidence for the incident that took place before dawn.

On this particular day, instead of civilians biking or walking around, minding their own business, there are SHIELD agents in their snappy suits and equally snappy equipments flooding around the crash site. A good samaritan has caught the blazing object dove head-first into the lake surface and uploaded it on Twitter - a ten-second shaky cam video depicting a bright arrow of light hurling through the tree tops and hit the lake in a giant gout of steam. As the result, the whole park has been shut down, save for SHIELD’s own people arriving shortly after the tweet hit trending, mere hours after the incident.

Said account has been deactivated by the time James Leonard was done dispatching the scout divers.

Tobias watches from his perch by the boathouse as the man in question jogs across the pasture toward a landing chopper, the wind beating out from the rotors does little to slow down his gait. James is tall, he’s probably a whole head taller than Tobias himself - though that’s not saying much, since Tobias is not exactly the tallest person around here - and the guy is built like a brick shithouse too. He is also intensely focused, dauntless, and diligent.

The chopper is black, like the rest of their uniforms, and brandishes a golden logo of SHIELD on its side: a stylized eagle encompassed by a circle. The Director has once told him that it was one of the efforts to keep SHIELD’s brand within the US government itself, to prevent it from going completely non-governmental and therefore, completely out of its jurisdiction.  

Personally, Tobias thinks it’s a bunch of horseshit. If SHIELD was going to protect the people of _Earth_ from alien attacks, might as well make it a global organization. The power-that-be is simply too paranoid that an intergalactic advanced group of alien watchers would turn on them someday - without _legitimate_ reason.

James comes to a stop in front of the chopper just in time for the entrance door to slide open and out climbs the Director, along with her second-in-command. They make an interesting pair: the director - a woman pushing her fifties, dark haired with streaks of grey, olive-skinned in her dark trench coat and military boots; trailed by a freckled girl not older than twenty-five, bubbly blonde hair and bright, green eyes. The personnels around the landing site pause their activities to give them a greeting, as does James.

James towers over her, but there’s an air around the Director - perhaps it’s the way she holds herself, or the scars running along her neck and shoulders that are not ashamed of showing themselves -  that screams experience and authority, and for that reason alone she usually outclasses anyone in her presence. She looks like the kind of person that knows exactly what she’s doing, and what everyone else _should_ be doing, as well. 

Giving the staff a _continue-on_ wave, she turns to James. They exchange information while walking back to the crash site, with James doing most of the talking. From this distance, Tobias can’t hear what they’re saying, but he _can_ read lips, and the moment the Director interrupts the briefing, one hand impatiently comes up to stop James in his track - he knows that’s his cue. 

“ _Where’s Agent Griffin?_ ” He sees her mouth shaping the words. 

“ _He’s up there,_ ” James glances at him - or the spot he was perched on just moments ago - then shrugs. “ _Somewhere_.”

<Director,> he says, as greeting. She instinctively looks up to where she thinks he is - just a black spot in the blue, blue sky, but she can’t answer, not within hearing range. A perk of thought speak is that he could keep his distance with others if he doesn’t feel like conversing, but still needs to do his job. 

Tobias is not exactly... a people person. An old soul, his mom has once called him, after they’ve gotten to know each other better. 

When they’d met for the first time, courtesy of the Director, who had somehow tracked both of them down from either sides of the country, there hadn’t been any tears at all. He was a scrawny high-school dropout whose self defense was to block any and all emotional simulations from the outside world, who has never even known the faces of his birth parents up to that point, while she was blind, legally declared mentally ill, and has not seen her own son since he was two years old. To him, at that moment, they were as good as strangers. 

He banks down, does a loop de loop to take advantage of the thermals, before perching down on a protruding branch overseeing his waiting audience. 

“ _Report_ , Agent Griffin,” says the Director. 

<So far, nothing unusual,> he fixes his stare on her. People have commented on it before - that his stare kind of scare them. Perhaps it’s the fact that a red-tailed hawk is giving you an intense, fully focused look, like it was _thinking_ \- is why. Even his girlfriend has told him to stop watching her while he’s a hawk, because it makes _her_ uncomfortable. And _she_ isn’t afraid of anything. 

The Director, of course, doesn’t flinch. If he’s made her feel anything at all beside annoyance, she doesn’t show. She waves her hand, signaling for him to go on. So he does. 

<No intruders from inside or out. No leaks. There’s a couple of kids trying to climb the rope with a camera strapped on their hats at your ten o’clock, but I’m sure your security detail could handle that.> 

“Did you see anything in the lake?” The Director’s assistant asks, her fingers type quickly across the tablet, eyes never leaving the screen. There are far and few moments where Tobias has seen Colette Siegbert without her tablet. When _that_ happens, shit is expected to hit the fan. 

<The reflections of the sky got in the way. Like I said, it’s a beautiful lake.> 

Tobias likes Colette. She doesn’t ask questions or takes his biting replies personally - in fact, he doesn’t think she even register them as sarcasm at all. Next to her, James scoffs, his face a big eye roll. “Okay, smartass. Got a flea you need to pick in there?” 

<Nope, but I can see you’ve got one hell of a bug bite on your neck.> Tobias puffs his feathers as James’ hand instinctively flies to his nape, red-faced. They glare at each other as the Director, having lost her interest in their routine bickering, glances away to study the crash site. Colette follows on her heels, never once stops typing. Or looking up. 

“Ma’am, what are you thinking?” 

“I don’t know,” the Director confesses. “But I have a bad feeling about this. A UFO crash landed in the middle of New York and SHIELD _didn’t_ know until after it happened? Something’s wrong.” 

“Judging from the video taken by the bystander, it resembles a one-crew vessel suited for long distance flight. I could see a damaged module that looked like wing of some kind, however the shape and noises it made are completely foreign to me.” 

As the Director’s right-hand-man, Colette has personally overseen far more alien visits than Tobias could ever claim to be. She, along with James and a handful others, were scouted right out of the beginning of SHIELD. All of them technically answer to James, although Colette’s sheer single-minded drive and quick thinking eventually got her the position next to the Director. If _she_ couldn’t recognize the object as any known alien structures that has come into contact with Earth, then it might as well be a UFO. The first one to be classified as a UFO in the last ten years. 

At that moment, a commotion in the middle of the lake catches their attention. Tobias watches from his vantage point as the scouting divers resurface one by one, followed quickly by a boiling cascade of water. James immediately jumps to action. Tobias follows suit, taking off and up above to get a better look. 

“All personnels clear out!” the Director shouts into the comline, as Jame sprints toward the bank. The divers have finally dragged the object out of the lake bed, and are now in the process of pulling it up. On the lake surface, two boats housing a bi-pod apparatus each start inching away on opposite directions, letting the combined force pull the object toward the surface, little by little. 

The object looks most definitely like a vessel now, as it rises slowly, displacing water sloshing heavily against its body. It’s an oddly shaped ship with two ends splitting into two sides, like a giant cross - or more accurately a two-bladed axe, burned scars running from the top to the right side of the exposed engines. The texture on the surface has a gridded pattern, however the material looks - _feels_ \- like it’s some kind of crumbled fabric that’s been left under the sun for too long. Under its belly, an oddly colored, egg-shaped module sticks out, looks like it’s melted right into the ivory skin of the vessel. Where you would naturally expect a cockpit window, there are two areas of opaque glasses embed into it, making the whole thing looks like a prehistoric bug caught in the middle of its birth. 

It looks gritty and battered, and between the chaotic shoutings and noises of astonishments, there’s a rising background _hum_ emitting from the vessel, getting louder the more it shows itself. Tobias can’t spot anything that resembles a weapon yet, but he keeps the distance just in case. The sound is making his skin feel prickly and itchy, like a vibration down to the bones and he wants to claw his way out of his own muscles. Which is a disturbing thing to feel, and so Tobias keeps his distance, circling up above the unfolding scene in a restless manner. 

 _You’ve been in morph for forty-five of your Earth minutes_ , he mimics his uncle’s voice in his head, to remind himself, and calms his nerves. The morphing technology, blessed as it might be, has the worst drawback at being a limited superpower. Unlike other, more spontaneous and reliable abilities, Tobias could become a _very_ effective spy, or enforcer, or anything the Director demands, for up to an hour and fifty-nine minutes. Longer than that, and he’s stuck in morph forever. 

He can’t imagine what getting stuck in an animal body with his human brain trapped inside would be like. Probably the same thing as when he’s just morphing, except shittier, and forever. If he was going to be an animal, worst case scenario, he prays to God for it to be the hawk. It’s his favorite morph and at least he’s spent so much time in this body - adjusting his thinking patterns, getting used to its baser instincts - that he could imagine co-existing with the hawk brain. For a certain amount of time. 

His mom, after regaining most of her clarity and memories, has told him that his father had purposefully stayed in morph forever, to be with her. After all, the only way for him to stay on Earth was to become a human. A _nothlit_ , is what his people calls him. He’d morphed human, and chose to _become_ human, to be with Lauren Griffin. The reason why, or how he’d come in contact with humanity in the first place, she never said. But she has told Tobias of his disappearance - no words, no warning, no trace of him ever existed in her life - and the resulting mess that took place. 

Sometimes he thinks however strange his life could become, or _has_ become, depending on the point of view, it can’t compare to his mother’s. He can’t imagine the kind of pain losing the love of his life and has absolutely no one believes that that person existed. 

His quick eyes spot first the Director mouthing the words “ _what the fuck-_ ” before a blurred moves beneath the water surface, coming out of the hidden belly of the vessel. It looks like a fish, but bigger, _much_ bigger, and also a lot faster. It moves like a nail being shot from a gun; hard, fast, and splitting water like a scissor running over a sheet of paper. It moves like a creature.

<James!> He shouts in his head. <Something’s coming your way! Look out!> 

Tobias soars higher, trying to get the best view of the alien, looking for an opening. Except... the alien isn’t an alien at all. Tobias recognizes it immediately as it springs out of the water, preceded only by a startling war cry. White fur covers the thing, huge, black claws, rolling muscles that move like they bench press tanks for exercise. Even the roars it makes is undoubtedly something he has seen at least once - on Discovery Channel. 

There is no doubt that the creature that has just appeared is, in all shape and size, a polar bear. 

Tobias acts quickly before he has time to think of the logistic of it all. He does a little calculation in his head, and once he’s gotten to an appropriate height, he shifts his trajectory, head down, wings folded into his sides. Then he lets go, lets the hawk brain does its thing. 

The clouds zip and break around him like ropes as he plummets to the ground. He could see how utterly confused the other agents are - a lot of them are highly trained, hypercompetent, semi-super soldiers, however what they have been trained to deal with are _aliens_ , not an actual, rampaging Earth predator. James, in particular, looks like a deer caught in the headlight. Or more appropriately, a seal caught under a polar bear’s paw, because that’s what his current situation looks like right now. 

James is quick. He moves like a video sped up two times, his reflexes border on inhuman. However, nothing could have prepared him for this. The bear, upon emerging from the water, has done a very suspiciously human-like thing: it singles James out from the crowd of agents and pounces on him, pinning him down with its front paws and whole upper body. Then, it looks around at the guns drawn around it, and growls; a low, baying sound. 

Tobias aims at the single tuft of fur that sticks out on the bear’s neck, forcing himself to dive down faster. <Hang in there, buddy!> He calls out, hopeful to get there before anything unfortunate happens. 

Several things happen in quick succession. Colette, who has dropped her tablet somewhere and replaced it with a tranquilizing blaster - gets two bullseye shots right in the middle of the bear’s forehead. It roars in pain and lets go of James momentarily. James flicks his feet out, kicks its chest one-two- _three_ times until it falls backward, releasing him in the process. Its giant paw comes down hard and swipes him across the face in retribution. In the chaotic screamings that ensue, Tobias swoops down, wings and claws out and he hooks them right into the bear’s flesh the moment he slams into it. 

The beast roars as he frantically flaps his wings, trying his damnedest to pull it away from James, who is clutching a bloodied face and still blindly reaching for his gun. Talk about pigheadedness. Tobias would have rolled his eyes back into his skull if the hawk’s eyes were able to do that. 

<Ahhh!> 

He’s jolted out of his stream of thoughts. Tobias is fairly composed during most situations, and there’s not much that could actually surprise him during the heat of battle - he saves those to analyse afterward instead - but considering that the last fifteen minutes has been some strange, disoriented fifteen minutes, he guesses it’s his turn to be surprised. 

That scream just now was not his own. 

As part of the Andalites-Human Accord established shortly after the war, a small, screened group of humans were to be given Andalite’s Morphing Tech. The Andalites controlled every aspects of the process, of course - the place, the people presented, the morphing device itself. Out of all eight chosen humans, Tobias became the only one that wound up working for SHIELD. The rest are directed to other departments and monitored heavily. Three of them have since died on the line of duty. Another two had, at one point, expressed the desire to go rogue, and so were promptly put down. Tobias had been the one to carry out those orders. 

Which is to say, he can’t think of a single morph-able human who could have gotten stuck on an alien spaceship and went mad enough to attack a unit of SHIELD agents in the middle of Central Park. Could this be a lost Andalite soldier? Or any other species being able to morph a polar bear from earth by some crazy, convoluted reason? 

By the time Tobias recovered from his shock, the bear has managed to reach its giant paw around and strike him - barely missing his head, but right on his left wing. The pain explodes through him in black and white, and he’s forced to loosen his grip on the bear’s neck as he tries to fly away from the swinging black claws. 

<A flying _maggot_ ! > says the bear, who’s being pulled backward by the talons of a hawk. <I’m going to rip you apart and paint this water red with your _blood_! > 

Jeez. Talk about melodramatic. 

<Try doing that before I poke your eyeballs out first!> 

Taking the initiative, he releases his talons, swoops away from the flailing animal before diving right back in, this time aiming for its face. It opens its maw - to slam its jaws shut on him, or just to scream, he isn’t sure - but he narrowly avoids that as well and sinks right back in, this time into the bear’s eye sockets, just as he promised. 

He barely registers several other agents tackling the thrashing animal down into the water, when its paws manage to come back up again, and this time he can’t avoid getting two - _three_ slashes through his midsection. He - the hawk - screams. He feels blood and whatever else inside the hawk gush out in abundant - and as he and the animal both fall into the open water, his talons loosen against his will, his mind empties. 

“Tobias!” He hears an orchestra of voices call out to him as a suffocating bubble of white, blinding pain crashes down. In the split second that he could crane his neck up and look. The sky is so blue. It’s so _intensely_ blue, and faraway. 

“Demorph! Right now! Do you copy-” 

He blacks out.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Griffin' is a surname of a famous baseball pitcher. I thought it'd be funny on multiple layers if this was Lauren's name, and it ended up fitting Tobias as well, to a certain degree. There's a lot of stuff in canon that would be reworked into this AU, including characters and settings, although pretty much everything differs from the start, so I figured some key elements would have to stay the same.
> 
> Stay tuned for the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, shoot me a comment! Thank you all for taking the time to read this. Peace!


End file.
